United We Stand
by Darkfangz13
Summary: Sherlock is sick, injured, and reduced to a mental child... John, Lestrade, and even Mycroft try their hand at getting the consulting detective to behave... but will they succeed? Or is Sherlock just too much for them to handle?
1. Chapter 1

United We Stand

John

There was the soft intake of breath and John braced himself. It was, quite unfortunately, the eerie calm before the storm. Sherlock dropped his head limply back onto the headrest of his chair and blew out the breath he was holding quite suddenly, causing a noise akin to what one would hear when bundled up inside during a windstorm.

John sighed in the exact moment Sherlock did. "I'm bored." The detective complained, staring up aimlessly at the ceiling, tracing every crack and blemish with his eyes.

"I can tell, Sherlock." John groused. "Believe me, I can tell!"

Sherlock rolled his head to the side to look at his flatmate without having to raise his head. "Oh, and what triggered that particular deduction?" he asked sarcastically. "The fact that you've practically put me under house arrest? Or that there are no cases for me to solve!"

John rolled his eyes, but didn't respond verbally. It was a mix of both, really. Sherlock was recuperating from a nasty fall into a river, during their last case, that resulted in a painfully twisted ankle and a severe cold. John, instincts taking over, had patched him up and treated him, firmly telling the detective that he would not tolerate Sherlock running around before he recovered.

And, to keep the hope that they'd survive the ordeal, John had texted Lestrade earlier, begging him not to contact Sherlock about a case.

Which, concluded their present predicament. With both exasperated, and at wit's end... for different reasons.

Another loud outburst of air from Sherlock's lungs rattled John out of his musings. John put the book he was failing to read down. "Sherlock."

The detective's eyes sharpened. "Yes John?"

"Stop it." Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows inquisitively. "Your explosive sighing in boredom. It's distracting me."

Sherlock just shrugged his shoulders and poked boredly at something, that John vaguely guessed to be a ruptured spleen, sloshing around inside a cooking bowl. Sherlock patiently waited for John to return his attention to his book before expelling another one of his annoying sighs.

John's book fell back onto his lap and he squeezed his eyes shut, lips pressing into a thin line. He wouldn't shout, he would be very mature and not raise his voice.

Maybe...

"Joooohhnnn!" Sherlock wailed. "Can you hear that?" John opened his eyes and stared at Sherlock for a moment, nonplussed.

Silence.

"That, John, is the sound of my brain deteriorating." Sherlock groaned dramatically like the world itself was ending.

John snorted wryly. "Silence, Sherlock, is a very lovely sound."

"Vile." Sherlock growled. "It is absolutely _vile_!"

"Sure you'd think it is." John grumbled quietly, rolling his eyes.

"Don't you have work at the clinic today?" Sherlock asked, suddenly changing subjects.

John frowned at him reproachfully. "I _did_, but I know you'd just run off the moment I turn my back. So I took the day off."

Sherlock wiggled his injured foot, assessing the level of pain he was in right now. Not too bad. "John..." he wheedled.

"No." John immediately cut him off.

"I didn't say anything." Sherlock raised his eyebrow challengingly.

"You were think it very loudly." John smirked back at him. "And no, we're not leaving the flat anytime today."

Sherlock pouted childishly. "Jooohn!"

John shook his head adamantly. "No, Sherlock. Still not happening." He lifted his book once again.

Sherlock frowned and puffed out his cheeks a little at being ignored. Then he snaked off his chair and slipped, very quietly, over to the handrest of John's seat. He grasped at the piece of furniture and pulled himself upwards just enough to let his quicksilver irises to flash across the cloying font of John's book.

John pretended he didn't notice.

"Pleeeeease?" came Sherlock's muffled request when he bored himself.

"Can't hear you properly with your mouth mashed up against the handrest." John told him. "How old are you, three!"

Sherlock raised himself a few inches higher and rested his chin on the handrest. "Come on, John! I'm bored! Lets go out somewhere!" John rolled his eyes as Sherlock's badgering started anew. "Park, restaurant, museum, police station..."

"Jail." John chimed in irrately.

Sherlock's eyes lit up. "Yeah! Let's go there!"

"No!" John gave up reading and closed his book with a snap. "Sherlock, listen very carefully. We're. Not. Leaving. The flat!"

Sherlock's eyes widened and he jutted his bottom lip out pitifully like a small child that was just refused candy. John sighed. "You're not going to get anywhere by making faces!"

But the glint in Sherlock's eye told differently.


	2. Chapter 2

Lestrade

"I was in the bloody army! You'd think I would be better at handling uncooperative patients..." Lestrade had to smile sympathetically at the defeated doctor.

"I doubt you'd find someone worse to fill a sickbed." Lestrade patted John's shoulder comfortingly as he expertly slapped Sherlock's prying fingers off his desk with his free hand. Sherlock frowned and stared at the closed files in question that Lestrade had been in the process of studying when they barged in on him. Maybe, if he stared hard enough and willed it to come to him...

"What's wrong with him?" Lestrade asked when he caught the consulting detective staring hard at his files.

John sighed. "I gave him pain meds for the bad ankle, he's been like that all day."

"Sorry to be the one to bring to attention the harsh reality, Sherlock," Lestrade told him grimly. "but you simply do _not_ have the force with you." He deadpanned and John snickered at the confused look on Sherlock's face.

"What?" Sherlock demanded.

John really couldn't resist. "These are not the cases you are looking for." He and Lestrade fell into a fit of giggles at Sherlock's expense.

"No, really, what's the great joke!" Sherlock stamped his foot with a frown.

"I'll tell you Sherlock," Lestrade told him kindly. "if you promise to cooperate with the good doctor from now on."

Sherlock snorted. "Like that's going to happen."

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. "Well, it might beat staying here without a case and having Anderson and Donovan laughing at the complete fool you're making of yourself."

Sherlock's frown deepened. "I'm not a fool." he grumbled. "I'm smart!"

Lestrade nodded. "Yep, for a three year old." He caught John's surprised look. "This isn't the first time Sherlock has wandered in my office on pain meds..." he trailed off. "You don't want to know the other stuff he used to barge in on." He shook his head with a sigh. "High as a kite sometimes. I still have that disgusting alien suit from three years ago, still don't know what Sherlock gave it to me for."

"Maybe he wanted you to wear it." John suggested.

"At Christmas?" was Lestrade's dubious response.

"You're right, he's an idiot." John nodded to himself.

"And he can also hear you." Sherlock pouted at them from across the room.

Lestrade finally looked at him again. "What are you doing now?" he asked.

Sherlock was crouched in Lestrade's doorway, looking out. "There's something dangerous out there." Sherlock lowered his voice to a whisper. "I think some people call it a ' lethal IQ minimizer'."

Lestrade stepped out of his office to find what it was Sherlock seemed so wary off. "Oh, evening, Anderson."

"And what will you call that, then?" John asked pointing in a different direction.

"..." Sherlock was silent. "I honestly don't know where to _start_." Sally saw them and rolled her eyes.

"Right then! Let's see if we can get you home!" Lestrade clapped his hands together to get the consulting detective's attention.

"How do you propose we do that?" John asked dubiously, but right now, he was just about willing to try anything.

"Let's try this..." Lestrade reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a stack of files. "I collect minor cases, little puzzles, just in case something like this happened."

He waved the cases under Sherlock's nose like a master would to a pet with a doggy treat. Sherlock's eyes followed them eagerly, before he blinked himself back into full alertness with an indignant start. "Lestrade, I'm not a bloody dog!"

"You're right." Lestrade agreed grimly. "See if I can scrape together some catnip." He casually picked up the thickest casefile on his desk.

Sherlock's expression wavered... just a little bit.


	3. Chapter 3

Mycroft

"Now that he's in there, lock the door and throw away the key!" Lestrade whispered in hushed tones as Sherlock paced the shared flat's sitting room and devoted his attention to dissecting every piece of information on Lestrade's case.

"You _do_ know Sherlock owns a complete set of lockpicking tools?" John responded seriously.

"So, what should we do, then?" Both were silent for a _long_ time.

"I hope you're not about to suggest what I think you're going to suggest." John said at Lestrade's resigned look.

"I don't know any other solution." Lestrade sighed, fishing around in his pockets for his phone. Then he rolled his eyes, extending a hand toward Sherlock, palm upturned. "Phone, Sherlock."

"Hm." Sherlock grunted, not moving his gaze from the dossier. His long fingers dipped into his breast pocket and he tossed Lestrade his stolen phone.

Lestrade called up Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's archenemy and older brother. But surely he'd be able to handle Sherlock? Right? "You _do_ know this may completely backfire?"

John just nodded at Lestrade, more distracted by the knowledge that Mycroft's number was in Lestrade's list of speed dials. "Let's hope it doesn't."

* * *

><p>Fifteen minutes later, an unmarked black vehicle pulled up on the street outside. By that time, Sherlock had moved to his usual seat and was organizing the details of the case in, what he percieved to be, the order of most importance.<p>

Another minute and Mycroft stood in the front doorway. Lestrade and John held a collective breath for the imperative confrontation. Sherlock acted like he hadn't even noticed the man waltz in like he owned the place.

"Sherlock." Mycroft's calm, even voice broke the deafening silence.

"Brother dearest." was Sherlock's contemptuous response. He still didn't look up from his case.

"I hear you've been causing a great deal of distress to Dr. Watson and Inspector Lestrade." Mycroft mentioned casually.

"And I see no reason for you to get involved." Sherlock responded, equally as casually.

Mycroft leaned into Sherlock's personal space. "Then, don't give me a reason to." he smiled kindly. "Because, I can have it arranged for you to be 'kidnapped' and your movements restricted for the rest of your recovery, two or three days, was it?" Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked up at Mycroft. "I'm sure Dr. Watson and Inspector Lestrade could use the peace and quiet."

"Invite me back home, why don't you? It's the same thing."

"If that's what you want, I'm sure I can have that arranged."

Then ensued a heated staredown. Sherlock broke eye contact first with a lofty 'humph' and a scowl. "This is my 'behaving' face." he said sarcastically.

Mycroft turned to Lestrade and John for the first time. "See to it that he is ingested with nepeta cataria. That always worked when he was a child." With a polite smile, he walked out.

John turned to Lestrade in confusion. "'Nepeta Cataria'?"

"Catnip." Lestrade elaborated. "Used for soothing and numbing effects. I'm pretty sure Mrs. Hudson has some in her stash of medicinal herbs." he deadpanned. "You better ask her to prepare it. I think it's best if I remain oblivious to what else she keeps burrowed in there."

He patted John encouragingly on the shoulder. "Good luck." And when he had extracted a promise from Sherlock saying he would contact him for the case if he learned anything new, he left.

John stood, stock still, hands fidgeting, he looked around at the desperate situation he was in. He took a deep, calming breath and opened his mouth... _"Mrs. Hudson!"_

The End.


End file.
